He gazed down, his navy eyes blank, shuttered. The open book he'd once been to her slammed shut and padlocked with no way to open again. "All right, not a problem."
Christine couldn't stand it and held him, listening to his heartbeat under her ear, savoring the scent of him, his strength, and the feel of hard warm skin beneath his shirt. She opened her mouth to say something, anything to make them friends once more and stop this damned awkwardness.
Charlie released and stepped back. "Have a safe trip and text me when you get home."
Dismissed. No other word for it. Businessman Jergens ready to get back to work and real life. Christine summoned another smile and refused with every ounce of stubbornness flowing in her veins to let him see her upset. "See you."
She didn't run but wasted no time moving to the security checks, removing her shoes, empting her pockets. The security people were friendly, asking how her stay had been, how she enjoyed her time in their island, every bit as nice as the day before. Had it only been yesterday she'd sat right over there on the floor for hours? The contrast between their concerned questions and Charlie's all but dead silence almost made her determination not to weep break. Almost.
After her clearance, Christine climbed the stairs to the next level. The same sights and smells from yesterday surrounded her, the noise and bustle flowing. But it felt different now, like she had entered a tunnel kept apart from everything and everyone else. She had to see Charlie one last time.
He stood in the same place staring at her, and their gazes met. In those depths she saw the same uncertainty, need, and misery she felt. Maybe their parting had caused this mood; after all, she'd been moody herself about leaving, unsure how to say goodbye or where they went from here. Christine truly smiled, kissed her fingers, and waved to him. Charlie's gaze shifted in a split second, seeming to shoot right through as if he searched for someone else.
"Oh my God, Charlie!" A tall, beautiful woman with flowing dark hair, a body made for sin, and endless legs in impossibly high heels ran to him. She threw herself into his arms, hugging him as if they were the only two people on the planet and began to talk at break neck speed.
Christine wanted to sink into the floor or scream. She watched him swing the girl off her feet, laugh the way he had last night, and seem incredibly sexy and happy at the same time. Animated, alive, and obviously moving on. Damn, damn, damn. What had she done?
***
Charlie watched Christine at the counter, a lump in his throat. It would be weeks before he saw her in person again. She smiled and chatted with a simple grace that enchanted everyone around her. The counter clerk laughed, and they talked as if they were old friends, making Christine tip back her head and giggle. His light, his sun, his Christine, and he had to let her depart when he wanted her in his arms and their bodies as one. Yet they weren't one; they hadn't been since their last love making. Part of Christine had already left. He had noticed her awkwardness that morning, the way she pulled from his arms and all but ran into the bathroom. He'd made some excuse about phone calls and went for a long walk, trying to solve this mystery and figure a way to tell her he wanted more than friendship.
He picked up a surprise for her, yet when he'd returned, she had packed what little she'd taken out. Her face closed, her thoughts concealed behind a quiet mask of politeness as she closed the bathroom door and finished getting ready to leave. When she exited, the dark eyes he loved stared through him. Never had he felt farther from her, which only made him wonder if she wished the night, her boldness, all they did and experienced together hadn't happened. Women didn't regret nights with him; he usually had to turn down their invitations. Though she didn't say the words, he sensed Christine's regret, and something inside him closed off in defense.
Charlie watched her clear customs and talk with the security agents, several who gazed at her with such admiration, one in particular who leaned far too close for professionalism. Charlie wanted to pull a caveman stunt, punch him in the mouth, and sweep his Christine off to where they could be alone. He noticed people smiled at her naturally recognizing the same ethereal quality he did and wanting to be part of it. He could hardly fault the guard for the same thoughts Charlie had. Christine bent to put on her shoes, and he moaned, recalling how her cute ass slid down his chest, how it fit against him as he slid inside her last night, and the tightness of her gripping his cock. She climbed the stairs, and like a lovesick boy, Charlie stood there hoping she'd turn back, wave, blow a kiss, something, anything. God, what the hell? What had she done to him?
Then he got slammed. "Oh my God, Charlie!"
"Ooof!" He barely got the word out as she squeezed the breath from him. "Alyssa?"